On The Death of my Favorite Kitten — Carrie L. Brown

Gone thou art, and thy bed is madeUnder the snow, so cold and chill;Gone thou art, and silent thou art,But thy memory makes my bosom thrill.

Gone thou art: O, I loved thee soWhen thou wert here 'mid our household band!But now thou art gone, lying under the snow,No more to come, or to feed from my hand.

I can see thy grave from the window-pane,Down under the apple tree;And my tears fall fast, like summer rain,When T think, sweet pet, of thee.

Thou art lying still, and thy earrings red'Are covered by cold, cold snow;And O, sweet one, how my heartstrings bledWhen I was told that thou must go!

But gone thou art, my little one,Free from all sorrow and pain;Free from all ills, thy life is done,While my tears fall fast like rain.

But gone thou art, and thy bed is madeUnder the snow so cold and deep;Gone thou art, and silent thou art,And o'er thy memory I sit and weep.